


Power of Puppies

by ConsultingHound



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Fluff, John can be manipulative, M/M, just look at the summary to be honest, oh god the fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-15
Updated: 2013-08-16
Packaged: 2017-12-23 13:59:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,976
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/927317
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ConsultingHound/pseuds/ConsultingHound
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A case involving missing puppies, an irritated Sherlock and John had an ulterior motive...</p><p>Or how a puppy came to 221B</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Just a quick thing I wrote while babysitting yesterday. Enjoy :)

The case was supposedly simple. A celebrated dog breeder had been found murdered in her home, her prize winning pooches gone. However the Met had no idea where they were as there were no visible signs of anyone having been there (except for the dead body in the middle of the kitchen). Hopes turned to the one person who could help...

“No.”

“Sherlock-”

“No, absolutely not. I will not lower myself to becoming part of your puppy patrol.  Lestrade, if you want my help, bring me a serious case.”

“Look please, I’m begging you. We’ve only got one lead and that’s you, pun not intended.” Sherlock’s eyes narrowed at the snicker from the kitchen and Lestrade felt his final hope flicker out.

“Wait a minute.” Lestrade reminded himself, once again, to thank whoever was responsible for the miracle of John Watson, who appeared in the kitchen doorway.

“No John. I am not taking it.”

“Sherlock you’ve been holed up in the flat for a week now and it’s driving me crazy.  You need to get out, the fresh air will do you good,” John said exasperated.

“But _John_ ,” Sherlock whined.

“But _Sherlock_ ,” John whined back.

“I hate you,” Sherlock said, folding himself into a sulking position in the confines of his chair.

“No you don’t,” John said cheerfully, planting a kiss onto his forehead before moving to the desk. Sherlock allowed himself to be partially mollified.

“So you’ll be there then?” Lestrade was hesitant. Sherlock could be really stubborn when he wanted to be.

Sherlock gave a grumbling affirmative noise and waved his hand dismissively. After Lestrade had disappeared, Sherlock glanced over his chair at the slightly smug John sitting at the laptop.

“You have an ulterior motive,” he announced. Sometimes all he had to do was state something loud enough and John’s spluttering replies often told him all he wanted to know.

“No I don’t,” John replied smoothly, “I just really, really want you out of the flat.” But Sherlock knew John was lying. Sherlock knew John’s 'I have an ulterior motive that Sherlock shouldn’t know about’ face. Other times he’d seen that face included the time that John agreed to do the case at the brewing factory for a deal for free pints every time he went to the pub.

“You’re lying,” he said, “but don’t worry. I’m sure it’ll prove a lovely puzzle to work on while we go through this farce.”

***

The case turned out to be far more intriguing than they previously assumed, leading them on a chase through the East End, discussing the ownership of an abandoned warehouse complex and into the inner workings of a smuggling ring, cumulating to the point where they were stood outside the perpetrators flat. On the count of 3, 2 officers broke the door down and they immediately swamped the flat. The murder and dog-napper (a Mr Conrad Haversham) didn’t stand a chance . Sherlock immediately swept in and started making deductions about the typically squalid flat, it’s inhabitant and- oh god.

Sherlock froze as he drank in the sight before him. He had found the ulterior motive.

John was sat on the floor of the threadbare living room surrounded by mounds of bulldog which were clambering over him, though one was already cradled in his arms, another one, older so the mother, pillowed against his leg. He had a complete look of adoration on his face, usually reserved for when Sherlock did something unusually sweet and many female officers were looking at him as if he were the cutest person and John was his goddammit. He made another mental note of how John’s language patterns were affecting him. Time to put a stop to this nonsense. He glared at the officers until they left before advancing towards John.

“No,” he stated, crossing his arms.

“No to what?” John asked distractedly, kneading the piece of fur between the puppy’s ears. They couldn’t be more than a few weeks old.

“You know what.” Sherlock’s clipped tone brought John’s focus back to him _(as it should be_ , Sherlock couldn’t help thinking viciously).

“Sherlock, you can’t be jealous,” John sighed and Sherlock huffed.

“I am not _jealous_. I am just aware of what you will ask and so am stating my thoughts now and those thoughts are no.”

“Sherlock-”

“No, you don’t get to _Sherlock_ me.”

“But Sherlock-” John repeated, putting a hint of pleading into his voice.

“John,” Sherlock warned.

“Please. For me Sherlock,” John looked at him with those abominable pleading eyes, those puppy eyes, and stood up carefully, dislodging all the puppies except for the one in his arms which he brought over to Sherlock. He didn’t say anything more, just stood there, pouting slightly, making sure the infernal dog was in the forefront of his vision.

“We won’t be able to keep it,” Sherlock argued, putting a hint of smugness into his tone.

“Actually, I wouldn’t mind,” a grey haired man in a tweed jacket interrupted from the doorway (a Mr Huntleigh, next of kin and new owners of the fluffy monsters crawling across the carpet). “Think of it as a reward for finding them,” he grinned, apparently oblivious to Sherlock’s glare.

John grinned, triumphantly.

***

They could collect their new charge in 4 weeks. For 4 weeks, Sherlock ignored John. For 4 weeks, John didn’t notice.

John was too busy getting the flat prepared for _it_ which he had decided to christen Gladstone, of all things, though, because Sherlock was claiming ignorance, he couldn’t protest. Soon the flat was littered with _objects_ and, although John swore most of it was confined to his old bedroom, Sherlock equally swore that he was just leaving things like bowls, leads and beds randomly around his personal space to aggravate him.

He had hoped that Mrs Hudson would create a fuss but she seemed delighted by the prospect, fluttering round and making happy little noises whenever she saw anything remotely dog related in 221B. According to her, it made them both so much more _domesticated_ , more _settled._

“Sherlock?” John asked one morning while making tea, his voice soft. Sherlock did nothing to indicate he’d heard but John carried on anyway. He came to stand where Sherlock was perched over his microscope on the kitchen table. “Sherlock, would you come with me, to pick up the puppy?” He carded his fingers through dark curls. Sherlock caught himself leaning into the touch and made a small effort to stop before allowing himself to indulge. John began nuzzling his head and whispered in his ear “please?” in a little hopeful tone.

Sherlock sighed. “Fine, fine. I’ll go with you to get the stupid dog.”

John smiled and Sherlock couldn’t help a miniscule lip twitch. With a quick kiss to his forehead and a “Thank you”, John went to go get a shower.

***

John was nodding along to whatever Mr Huntleigh was saying. Sherlock wasn’t listening, nor had he spoken. Sherlock was staring at the white and brown splodged creature currently in John’s arms.  

The dog. _Our_ dog.

Sherlock didn’t speak at all; not at their exit, not in the cab home and not in the short staircase journey upstairs. As soon as he was in the flat he shrugged out of his coat and threw himself on the sofa, upside down, his hair brushing the floor. John didn’t comment and merely released the fiend into the room so Sherlock retreated into his Mind Palace.

John’s voice filtered through. “Sherlock?  We’re out of bread so I am literally only going to the end of the road to get some more, okay?” Sherlock couldn’t remember but he must have made an affirmative noise as the door opened and closed. A few moments later he felt the uncomfortable sensation of someone watching him. An intruder? Interesting. His eyes flew open, ready to jump into action to be faced with...

The dog, sat directly in front of him, head to one side.

“Oh, you’re still here. What do you want?”

The dog thumped his tail twice and swung his head the other way.

“Go away, I’m _thinking_ ,” Sherlock tried.

The dog stared back.

Sherlock flicked himself back the right way up. “I wish you to know that John is primarily mine. I hope you understand that.” A thump of a tail. “Good.”

The dog barked and trotted over, nuzzling Sherlock’s leg. The owner of aforementioned leg gave one of his best long-suffering sighs and reluctantly began fussing the dogs ears. To his surprise it was quite... tolerable.  Relaxing even. “I suppose you can stay. For John’s sake.”

***  
John arrived home expecting pandamonium. As he was walking into the shop, he’d had a thought.  He hadn’t forbidden experiments on Gladstone and Sherlock had always wanted a living test subject. Although Sherlock was ignoring Gladstone’s existence for now, he decided to make his trip extra quick just in case. He practically ran back and bounded up the stairs, burst into the living room to find...

One sleeping Consulting Detective, spread out of the sofa, a sleeping bulldog puppy on his chest. John couldn’t help the smile and relief that sunk over him. He also ‘couldn’t help’ the photo he snapped and texted to Lestrade, Molly and Mycroft with the caption:

**Puppy Love- JW.**


	2. New Friend/ Old Enemy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For Bilingual_Me :) 
> 
> Mycroft comes to 221B and is introduced to Gladtsone with...interesting consequences...

All he had done was go out to walk Gladstone. Upon returning, John realised that he may have, unintentionally, triggered World War 3.  

“Morning Mycroft,” he sighed as he intentionally bypassed the living room for the kitchen, letting Gladstone loose. The puppy ambled over to his food dish and, seeing that it was empty, looked at John with a look of distrust and disappointment.

“Good Morning John,” Mycroft drawled back, never taking his eyes off of his brother who was staring back with an equal look of contempt. “How are you finding your newest addition?” he added with a smirk, causing Sherlock’s mouth to twitch.

“He’s fine thanks,” John said slowly, sensing a trap somewhere. Gladstone, apparently realising that food was not forthcoming, had trotted into the living room and positioned himself near Mycroft, confused to who the newcomer was and why he was sat in his master’s chair.

“And Sherlock, what about you?” There was the trap.

“How’s your new diet?”

“Childish. Find a new insult Sherlock, I fear you are losing your touch.”

“And you should find a new nutritionist.”

Mycroft sighed. “Can we return to the discussion at hand?”

“No.”

“Sherlock-”

“Why does everyone feel the need to remind me of my name these days? It’s highly irritating.”

“John, reason with him.”

“Er, no. You can’t just use me as a live puppet,” John defended, settling onto the sofa.

“Your loyalty never ceases to amaze me John. Fine, have it your way. Sherlock if you don’t take this case, I will remain here until you do,” Mycroft settled back into the chair as if to emphasise his point.

“Oh bargaining this early in the conversation. You say I’m losing my touch. Well I refuse,” Sherlock said smugly. Both John and Mycroft looked at him surprised; John with an incredulous look and Mycroft with an eyebrow raise. Sherlock simply lowered his eyes to somewhere near Mycroft’s feet.  2 other sets of eyes followed.

Gladstone had been inching forward and was now sat leaning against Mycroft’s leg, drool spilling down onto Mycroft’s black bespoke shoes. Mycroft’s lips curled into a snarl whereas John bit his, trying not to burst into laughter.

“Common problem I am led to believe,” Sherlock stated, smiling.

“I’ll be in touch.” With that Mycroft stood, straightened his jacket and swept out.

“Come here,” Sherlock said to Gladstone, holding out his hand. Confused about the sudden departure of his newest friend, Gladstone happily trotted up and headbutted Sherlock in the shin.

“You trained him to do that didn’t you?” John realised watching Sherlock happily scratching between the puppy’s ears.

“Obviously.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed and if anyone ever wanted to send me prompt ideas send them into my tumblr:  
> http://dinosaursdontplaypianos.tumblr.com/


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